The War of the Roses
by popuriFFic
Summary: The epic tale of Jack Rose: a pot farmer trying to write the Great American Novel. We watch all the horrible things Jack does to everyone who is stupid enough to fall for him. Will true love be his salvation? HM64, mature themes.
1. prologue

a note from the author:

rating it mature, because i like to swear casually and reference illegal drug use in everyday conversation, and i know there are children on this site. other than that, and maybe some sex, and i'm not sure how "mature" it is. it's sort of a story about immaturity, in a way. i hope you enjoy what comes out of my brain.

* * *

the prologue that never was

* * *

"BECAUSE, Jack!" she said. "Some people can't just_ think_ all day long like you can. And it's not cause we aren't as smart as you, and it's not  
because we "don't get it" like you do. It's because some people don't have the LUXURY of just up and leaving. Some of us have families, and lives, and-- and a place in this world! Don't you fucking get it? Some of us choose not to focus on the hard things. So we can—," she started to sob and choke her words out under huge gulps of air that never felt like they went anywhere. "So i can get out of bed every morning and do what I need to do for the people depending on me. ME."

"I can't leave people because every body keeps leaving me." The sobs slowed. "I never leave."

* * *

If Jack could ever actually manage to write something, this would have to be the prologue. This was the exact moment he knew his theory on relationships was true. In a different time, in a different place, if the circumstances had happened to be anything but what they were, he could have really fallen in love with _this _woman. This version of Popuri which he had never, ever seen.

Jack couldn't tell if this was indeed a new, evolved Popuri (a monster he had created? she does make a beautiful improvement to frankenstien's invention...) or had she perhaps been this beautiful, reflective, raw, INTELLIGENT creature that he had never let his own ego deflate enough to notice before now.

Men don't run away, or purposely confuse their bodies with drugs, or constantly make excuses, or save themselves from any real love and sentiment – all to avoid failure. and pain. and the unknown. For the first and only time, someone had made Jack feel stupid. and it was the work of Popuri Rose: his (once-upon-a-time) loving trophy wife.

Well, never did he dream it possible. Never in his _fucking_ wildest, drug-induced dreams.

* * *

authors notes & introduction

* * *

hello. i don't really like the prologue too much; maybe i'll change it one of these days.

i change the summary to this story a lot, mainly because there is no possible way to summarize it in such a short amount of characters. so i play.

this is the space where i make updates and answer questions about the story. if you have a question about the story, leave it in a review. if you have already left a review, i enabled anonymous reviewing so you can ask. i will answer any questions about plot, credit & thank anyone for finding mistakes, make clarifications, etc, here. so if you want to know something, just ask.

either way, please leave a review. i seee you lurking :) thanks for reading & ENJOY :D


	2. proposal

* * *

(just what exactly) are you proposing?

* * *

"Popuri, will you marry me?"

The words sounded significantly different actually being spoken aloud than how he had imagined. He chewed on the stale taste they left in his mouth during the silence that followed. He felt awkward; like a little boy. Maybe he should have practiced this before? Jack hadn't felt the need to practice (practice was something guys probably did when they had a fear she might actually say no). Cliff hadn't really mentioned anything about it, anyways.

Jack extended the tip of a blue feather out through the bottom of his t-shirt. Popuri's cheeks shone red and her face contorted into a painful smile; a smile full of giggles struggling to escape. Popuri watched Jack do a dorky little dance as he pulled the blue feather out from under his shirt. Jack always was the entertainer, even when no one was there to watch.

Eventually Jack wriggled the end of the feather between two fingertips. A hundred dollars for this thing. A tacky little feather with paper-mache and sequins glued to it. Because it was a town ritual, _they_ had all simply insisted upon it. Jack wondered if any of the other bachelors had to do this ridiculous ritual. If so, he bet they didn't have to pay a hundred dollars for this crap. A buck seventy-five, tops. He squinted at the feather. May and Stu probably made it in crafts class. Bastards.

Jack made his way over to Popuri and stuck the feather behind his ear. He lifted a closed fist above her head and rained blue glitter teardrops down. Jack settled his arms around her waist. She smiled and reached up, grabbing the feather between two fingers.

"Ah ah ah," said Jack "Not so fast... is that a yes?" He grinned wickedly and held it back.

"Eee! Yes, yes, yes, of course – yes!" Popuri threw her arms around his neck and kissed him furiously, working up to his lips. "Can I have it now?"

Jack held the feather behind his back, away from Popuri. "I want to do it – put your hands down. Here." Jack tucked the hair on the right side of her face over her shoulder. He threaded the feather through her hair and behind her ear.

"Cute."

Jack looked around at the scene they were about to leave behind. Baskets and baskets of flower petals forming hearts and letters and other gay girly things on the ground. Cliff had done all of this (Cliff was such a fucking fag). But he knew Popuri was eating this shit up.

Not that he ever had to try too hard to impress Popuri (that was, perhaps, what he loved most about her).

Popuri couldn't help but notice that what seemed like hundreds of flowers had been needlessly decapitated. It gave her that same funny feeling where her tummy, like, was trying to jump up out of her throat, and like, run away from her; that feeling she got everytime she thought about Daddy. She wondered if Daddy would like Jack. She reckoned he probably would because Daddy always liked people who would look you in the eye when you talked to them (Daddy always said that).

But this wasn't the time to think about those things. So she stopped.

Hand-in-hand, they left the Goddess Spring behind them and turned to the clearing to greet the group eagerly awaiting their arrival.

* * *

a note from your author:

not their first mistake. not their last mistake. it didn't feel much like anything at all.


	3. bachelor party

* * *

a bachelor party (kai, where are the fucking "dancers"?)

_

* * *

  
_

As soon as they exited the clearing, they were greeted by a group of familiar faces (TOO familiar, fuck). The Flowerbud Village paparazzi. To no one's fucking surprise.

"Tell me she said yes!"

It was about 10:30pm and the sky was pitch black and little woodland creatures were probably just on the cusp of sleep. And Ann Green was screaming at the top of her lungs. But before anyone could make any type of shushing motion in her direction, her boyfriend Cliff lunged at Jack and jumped into his arms.

"The J man is getting married! Oh, my little pumpkin!"

Jack cackled and pushed Cliff off of him. "This is why you're a fucking orphan, you embarrassing little shit," he said.

Actually, Jack didn't say that. He only wanted to say that.

Instead, he said: "Sadly, I'm officially off the market, Cliff," and gave him a wink.

Ann was clearly annoyed by their show. "I'm going to take that as yes... mainly because I already told the mayor you guys got engaged, and the wedding is next Sunday!" Ann exclaimed. Jack let out a puff of hot air. Shit. One week away.

Popuri was eventually dragged away by Ann, Elli and the rest of the skwaking girls (who had nothing better to do, because they lived in Bum-Fuck-Nowhere, Saskatchewan). They were like hens, picking at pretty little Popuri like she was the only feed box full of grain left in the coop (a bad analogy, Jack decided).

"Um, bye!" he smiled, attempting to call out to Popuri's disappearing silhouette. She smiled and turned back long enough to wave, and Jack responded with a wave. Kai waved goodbye to Popuri as well and she looked away.

The hens disappeared and left Jack alone with Cliff and Kai in the clearing. Immediate relief. Jack smiled at his friends.

"I already talked to Duke." Kai arched his eyebrow. He was challenging Jack to understand.

"Private bachelor party at the bar. Tonight. Now. Right now. Right fucking now man!!!!" Cliff jumped and shook Jack by the shoulders. "CAN YOU HEAR ME BROTHER??"

Jack's eyes lit up. "Oh my god fuck yes yea—" he began to dash out of the mountain clearing, giggling like the fool he was. He made it all the way Popuri's seed shop before Cliff caught up with him. Kai, of course, flew past them both and ran ahead to warn Duke of their arrival (by screaming it at the top of his lungs as he burst through the door). Out of breath, Jack and Cliff were right behind. In a matter of minutes.

Almost all of the men in town were already halfway through their beers, seated at their usual spots in the bar. A harmonious uproar began as soon as Jack entered, the men cheering their congratulations. Kai finished filling a large mug with draft beer and presented it to him. Putting on a show for the crowd, Jack downed half in a swig, foam tickling the sides of his mouth.

It was so exciting for the bar to open on a Sunday, the men were sure to make a big show of appreciation for Duke by drinking more than usual. Usually, they were pretty reserved dudes, although Cliff and Kai would always party with him. But none of the other guys around were young.

Before Jack moved here (and began providing his "services"), he wondered why they all just didn't kill themselves. Just drop right fucking dead in the middle of the street due to boredom. Just stick a pistol in their mouths and paint the walls with their brains. Their lives seemed so fucking empty and boring, in the "before times".

Jack was 24, which a few years ago he would have considered an "old" age, but now that it was happening in the present, didn't seem all that much different from his teenage years. He scanned the bar. Jeff and Harris were chatting excitedly; the oldest bachelors in town. Well it was no surprise to see smiles on their faces. They had wanted to marry Elli and Maria, respectively, for years now. But once the girls finally became of age, Jack had flown in and enamored all the single ladies in town.

Perhaps it was his charm, his androgynous goodlooks, his boyish grin – Jack was unsure what exactly he had done to have all their women chasing him, but he assumed it might just be the mystery surrounding his arrival, and the dream of the city boy taking a lucky little farm girl back there with him one day.

It wasn't just the old guys. Even Ann, Popuri's closest friend left in the villiage, had crushed on Jack so hard that Cliff couldn't even marry her now.

In fact, this could all be traced back to Cliff, the wandering vagrant (who was actually fucking homeless, but in like a cool way). A hunter and an orphan and an incredibly strong and inspiring person. But a romantic sappy little wuss, at the same time. He loved Ann. He wanted Ann. He fell in love with her "sharp edges" and "passionate tongue" and "thick braid of hair which swings like the mane of a horses tail" (and whatever other useless Ann shit cliff rambles on about every fucking day).

She wasn't that fucking great. She wasn't even really... good. The irony of it was that Jack couldn't even tell Cliff that Ann was just some creep, dime-a-dozen, useless ho. Jack hooked up with Ann once when he was taking care of some cows for a few weeks in the winter. It was for this totally hot, weird, sad chick... Manna. Jack had no idea what her deal was. But Ann brought the cows over and truthfully Jack had even forgot he agreed to it. He was high as a kite and Ann's hair smelt like what sunshine would taste like and it was just too easy. He had backed her up against a wall, knee parting her thighs, feeling her body shake, spasm, and curl beneath him. He explored her tight, athletic body with his fingertips and her warm mouth with his tongue. Everything about her felt warm and safe, and he decided to indulge himself. Jack wasn't a pervert. Jack just loved to be touched.

In the city, you didn't have to worry about betraying a friend; you could just fucking ditch them and go get new ones when you fucked them over. Cliff could not be ditched. He was Jack's best friend in the village, his number one customer, and a nice fucking person. I mean he was a god damned hobo orphan! and Jack nearly-fucked the only girl Cliff had ever loved.

But it was one time and Ann was annoying anyways. He did it because he was a selfish asshole and that was about the only reason. He never told cliff. And never would.

Clifford fucking Leonardi. He was grinning like an idiot because he knew having Ann planning Popuri's wedding would have her agreeing to his proposal soon after. Jack, in all honesty, was happy for him. And for Jeff, and for Harris.

Now Rick was seated with his Uncle Doug. Gotz drank alone in the back corner. Zack had joined Duke, Jeff, and Harris, leaning on the bar. Jack settled at his table (back-center, with cliff and kai).

The door to the bar burst open, and with more force than usual, due to a strong gust of wind accompanying Gray as he appeared in the doorway. Everyone turned to him upon arrival, but he said not a word to anyone. Jack caught his eye and Gray gave him a respectful nod of his head before joining his cousin and father at their table.

Gray Green. A strange name for an even stranger man.

As far as he knew, Jack wasn't stealing any girls away from Gray, atleast. Kai had told the story of Gray's past breakup with the village beauty, Karen. She used to live at the vineyard with Kai, but she moved away to be a stripper or something (as Kai had put it, "a dancer"). Apparently they were supposed to get married or something, but she took off and broke his heart. Blah blah boring. Jack knew one thing: this Karen must have been sensationally hot, because Kai was all hung up on her too, once actually describing her hair as "the colour of dark, morning honey" instead of just "blonde .....I think." (Kai was a fag too. God, Jack hated his friends).

But Jack was the fucking loser who was getting married next week. And that sucked (the whole "getting married" thing – especially when you're only twenty-four). But atleast it was to Popuri.

And Popuri was hot and cool and nice and way better than any girl he thought he'd ever land. Fuck, hot was an understatement. Popuri was absolutely fucking smoking. Her body was tight and tiny and her skin was so soft and it smelled like pretty stuff blended into lotion. And her hair was pink (fucking pink! But not in a weird gothic/rock/combat-boots chick kind of way. Like in a soft, feminine, fluffy kind of way. Like cotton candy). Jack tried to lick her hair once to see what it tasted like. It ended up not tasting either good or bad – just like hair. But everything about Poppy was just... yummy looking.

And she didn't act how she should for a chick that hot. She wasn't demanding. Popuri didn't make Jack do annoying girly things or demand things from him or really complain or expect anything from him at all. She was just a happy little ray of sunshine who liked flowers. That's it: flowers. Jack grew a bunch on his farm and gave her one every day and she creamed herself over it. She'd kiss him on the cheek, tuck the flower behind her ear, and saunter off. Continue on with her day. She never called or dropped by unannounced. She never wanted to know what he was fucking _doing_. She literally resembled a factory-made doll. Why the fuck would Jack NOT marry this girl?

... that was the problem. He had no longer had an answer. For the first year they were together, Jack could easily rely on excuses such as "I don't know her that well yet" and "I'm playing the field before I settle down" but after even 8 months together, the pressure had been on.

Jack noticed Jeff across the bar, eyes bright and mouth moving a mile a minute in his conversation with Harris. He needed to get married for that poor little guy, and for Elli's sake. Shit, poor Elli. Jack laughed to himself. He gave her an egg everyday from his hens hoping to get some free cookies and stuff (you know, munchies deliveries) and she took him outside the bakery one day to proclaim her love and tell him she was waiting patiently for the day he would bring her the blue feather. (He'd been avoiding the bakery for about a month thanks to that incident). Getting married was just.... easier.

Just as Jack lamented on how much this bachelor party fucking SUCKED, a chant began to murmur through the bar.

"Rick Rick Rick Rick Rick Rick Rick Rick Rick Rick Rick Rick Rick Rick Rick Rick."

Rick Green was being dangled by his ankles, doing a kegstand. Beer came out of his nose.

"Thirty-four seconds?" Duke laughed aloud. "Well, okay then. Who's next?"

Jack licked his lips. It was his turn.

* * *

a note from the author:

details are necessary. it's an unfortunate fact of life. i can't wait to get to the fun stuff. :) i think you're going to like jack; you're either going to like him, or you're sure going to like hating him. :D


	4. purple

* * *

purple (as far as the eye can sea)

* * *

Jack had always loved to read; it wasn't until his final essay of high school that he'd learned he loved to write. Jack decided to tackle "Wuthering Heights" (mostly just to show-off in comparison to his ditzy classmates, the majority of whom choose "Twilight" or "Gossip Girl" books for a grade 12 ISU. Then again, the presence of such sickening analogies as "Edward and Bella act as Romeo and Juliet; star-crossed lovers" were not hard to compete with).

They were all idiots. It was not until Jack first opened his copy of "Wuthering Heights", fingers drinking in the pages, that the desire to author his own epic began to burn him from the inside. The book captivated him in a way books before had not. Heathcliff was a monster, Emily Bronte was soulless and cold, and it was one of the best novels ever written. Jack cut two days of school and ignored all phone calls while he digested it, unable to stop reading. And the moment he finished the last page, he turned right back to the first and began reading it again. Before that, Jack had thought you needed actual emotions in order to create great works of art. But he didn't, and thus his obsession with writing began.

He did get 100 on that essay, but by that time, his college plans had changed. Once a pre-med major, early acceptance to all the best schools, Jack corresponded with University of Toronto admissions counsellors and changed his acceptance to the English program. There was no problem, as it was easier to get into a general arts degree than a competitive science program, anyway.

He packed up all his things. That fall, he had started school, and never looked back. He was going to write the Great American Novel. The world would know Jack Rose; the world would love Jack Rose. He'd tell them all his story...

Ah, how the mighty have fallen.

... fallen right off of their barstools and onto the hard-wood floor.

Pain shot up Jack's tailbone. Cliff howled with glee.

Jack laughed at himself, mind swirling in its drunken haze. He was pretty sure he was still at the bar. That's what the floor he was sitting on seemed to resemble, anyway. And he had spent many nights on this floor.

"Dude... you just. You fell – out of your – fell out of..." Cliff laughed louder and became incoherent.

Gray sat in Kai's chair now, echoing the giggles. Jack fuzzily recalled Gray joining them earlier that evening... before he was so ... drunk. Kai was? God knows where. Puking somewhere, probably.

Jack couldn't seem to recall how he'd gotten there. Cliff may have invited Gray over, that eternal ray of douchebag sunshine. But Jack didn't mind; he had never even seen Gray's face before he popped up in the village a few months ago. Beside the introductions and the odd purchase, Jack had nary spoken a word to the guy.

He'd been in the hospital all this time, but it was kind of one of those things people in the village didn't talk about. Kai had revealed all the gory details once, when Gray had first returned to Flower Bud, and it sounded messy: thrown from his stallion into a solid cement wall. A three month coma, a miracle he even survived.

Gray, the almost-cripple, extended a surprisingly strong hand in Jack's direction. Jack reluctantly accepted, hauling himself back onto his stool, without ease.

"More alcohol," Jack slurred threateningly at his guests. Gray cracked a beer and slid it beside Jack.

" 'ere you go."

Jack smiled. Nice guy. "Thanks. You know Gray, you're pretty cool. Where you been all this time, anyway?"

"... right here."

"You smoke the ganji?"

Gray's indifference blanched from his face. "Excuse me?"

* * *

"My head. My head. My fucking heeeeead!" Jack's eyes hadn't even opened yet, but sunlight still managed to penetrate the thin skin of his lids and magnify his headache.

Where the fuck was he?

As much as it pained him to do it, Jack opened his eyes to look around. He was in the bar. He was lying on the hardwood. Judging by the sunlight, it had to be about noon (it astounded him to think that he could actually tell what _time_ of day it was by the intensity of the sunlight. Becoming a farmer will do that to you).

"Fuuck." He examined what was left of Duke's Tavern. Kai was curled up into a fetal ball under the back table, bandana tied tightly around his eyes. Cliff was facedown on the floor beside Jack, hand haphazardly resting on Jack's thigh.

"Wake up, Cliff," he hissed. "Oh, and p.s. I'm not gay, so..." Jack dangled Cliff's hand by it's thumb, and threw it from his lap.

"Ow -- fuck you!" Cliff groaned, wiping at the sleep that had collected in hiss eye. "Where's Kai?" he said, between yawns. Jack pointed at the corner, and Cliff saw. "... Huh."

"Well, I'm alive," Cliff continued, "what about you?"

He could be dead. It wasn't impossible; in fact, statistically, it was actually quite likely. People die every second, all over the world. Maybe they were both dead, and this was some sort of afterlife. Jack dug his fingernail sharply into his wrist, watching it leave a small, red crescent marked in his skin. Yep. And he was breathing oxygen, too. He was alive. Just his fucking luck.

"I'm alive," Jack informed him. "Unless... this is some sort of coma-induced dream?" Jack paused, pondering that possibility, before continuing, "but Rick, I think Rick died last night."

"Oh yeah. Rick's dead." Cliff laughed. "For sure. May his soul rest in drunken peace."

Rick drank a lot last night. Apparently, so did the three of them, considering they had passed out on the floor of a fucking bar. Jack struggled to remember what else happened, but he was in a lot of discomfort and he was drunk and he was still sitting on the floor. "Fuck."

Jack had even made a new customer last night: Gray. From the sounds of it, he'd be a pretty regular customer, too. Those were always nice. In fact, he was supposed to be coming by today, at (oh shit) around one.

Jack sprung up. "Cliff, let's go." Cliff glared at Jack and shot him a look that said: are-you-fucking-kidding-me?

"... are you fucking kidding me?"

"Asshole, I have a customer. Now."

Cliff stood, begrudgingly. "What about Kai?"

"He'll be fine," Jack said, before even looking over at him. And then he did: Kai was shaking slightly in his dreams, teeth chattering audibly. Jack snapped a clean tablecloth off of the table he slept under and draped it over Kai. "Why is this kid always fucking shaking? It's like he's got pneumonia or something."

"He's from California, you dipshit."

"Fuck you!" Jack shoved Cliff and ran ahead of him out of the bar. "Heeheehehehehehee."

"Jack, you are so fucking weird," Cliff groaned, trailing behind.

They ran and they ran (and they power-walked for a brief moment to catch their breath) and then they ran again. They ran all the way to Jack's farm in pain and confusion, motivated by the most beautiful thing in the world: marijuana. They huffed and puffed and laughed and by the time they reached the mailbox, Gray was already there waiting.

"Gray." Jack stood up straighter. "Sorry man, we just woke up. How long you been here?"

Gray wore dark blue jeans and a gray tee. He had a grass-stain on his elbow. He wore that hat every day, Jack marveled.

"Not too long." Gray laughed, slow and sweet. "It was some night." Jack and Cliff grinned like idiots and elbowed each other.

"I'm still drunk," Jack whispered at Gray. For some reason, he winked, and he and Cliff burst into laughter again.

Gray laughed. "Delirious. Read: need pot."

Jack laughed. "Exactly." He paused and realized maybe Gray didn't want to sit around and make idle chitchat with his fucking drug dealer. He cleared his throat and stood up ever straighter. Fuck, Gray was tall. "So, I've got a half O inside already bagged. I'll go grab it for you."

"Thanks Jack. 'appreciate it." Gray reached over to shake his hand. Jack marveled at this tall, weird, adult-kind-of-person who actually offered to _shake hands_. It made Jack feel like he was five years old.

Jack reached up to shake his hand, and Gray stealthily slipped him a neatly folded hundred. He was shocked at his class, and merely nodded at him in recognition, wordlessly stumbling inside. He slid the money in the back pocket of his jeans. Paying before Jack even gave him the stuff, and with a handshake?! That was a man. Jealously coloured Jack's cheeks; why had he never thought to do it himself? An unfamiliar feeling clutched at his insides that he couldn't place (but it was awfully unpleasant).

eh... fuck that. Nothing a little pot don't fix.

A quick glance at his bedside mirror informed Jack that he looked like fucking shit. He did whatever he could to quickly remedy himself. He slid on some deodorant and wiped his face with the shirt he was wearing, pulling it over his head. He grabbed a new white tee from the laundry basket and popped his head through the top, leaving the straps of his overalls hanging loosely at his sides.

One last check... and now he just looked shittier because he looked retarded and like he was trying too hard.

He grabbed Gray's baggie out of his dresser drawer, and two papers.

* * *

Purple.

Kai awoke that morning (afternoon?), and all he could see was purple. A sea of purple pulled at him from all directions. Panic gripped his insides.

"Now you've done it, Kai! You've finally gone and drunk yourself to death," Kai moaned, believing to have drowned himself in a barrel of wine. He began rolling around helplessly on the floor, flailing his limbs without purpose. His stomach churned and lurched and launched him in all directions.

His cries abruptly stopped as he felt the knot of his bandana sandwich itself between his head and the wooden floor. A tanned hand flew to the back of his head, searching for the cause of the discomfort. Relief flooded through him when Kai realized he had merely tied his bandana around his eyes to help him sleep easier.

No sooner had he removed the purple headpiece, than he wished he hadn't. The harsh summer sun burned through the window and he cried in pain, covering his brown eyes with his fingers.

"Ughhh." How much had he had to drink? He clutched the tablecloth (which was inexplicably covering his body) closer, chattering his teeth, and subsequently worsening his headache. It was fucking freezing in here. They seriously called this _summer_? Fuck Canada.

Having not yet regained enough strength to drag his sore body off of the floor, he struggled to recollect the night's previous events.

There were kegs, there were spliffs, there was wine (of course)... just a regular, run-of-the-mill bar night in Flower Bud Village. So, why did he drink himself half to death the night before?

... because they were celebrating Jack's bachelor party. The end of his single life. The beginning of his marriage to Popuri.

_Oh. _Suddenly he wished he had drowned in that barrel of wine afterall.

Kai bit back tears. He wasn't going to cry... he wasn't going to cry... he wasn't going to --

A tear slid down Kai's tanned cheek. Another followed, fatter than the first, and he swiped at his eyes, grateful no one was around to see.

He _wasn't_ going to cry. Not today. Today was the day he was going to get over it. To face facts... accept that they were getting married and they were in love. This was what was best for everyone.

Kai sighed. He told himself that _every_day. The tears continued to fall as he shivered, clutching his knees.

* * *

Jack had rolled the first joint in a messy hurry to get it done and in his system. He took his time with the second.

After pulling himself together, Kai had found Jack and Cliff fishing in the Moon Mountain river. Well, "found" was the wrong word; that would imply that Kai actually had to search for them, and he hadn't. The three of them had gotten in the habit of wasting afternoons away and nursing hangovers here. There wasn't many other places to go around here, anyways. He knew he'd find the two of them there, marijuana cigarettes in tow, which was the main reason he didn't just drag his sorry ass straight home to the vineyard. He was dry, and try as he might to avoid his friends, Jack was the one with the chron. Jack was always the one with everything.

The first thing Jack noticed about Kai was that he looked like fucking shit. Like he spent the night on the floor of a bar – Jack knew he _had_ infact done so, but they both had -- except Jack didn't look like the contents of a used napkin. Kai was swollen and stumbly and snotty and sweaty. He had entered the clearing with his head hung low and his eyes sad and full of woe-is-me, unshed tears. Jack rolled his eyes. That little pansy was getting gayer by the day.

He probably misses Karen, Jack thought to himself. All the wedding stuff must have set him off. Or maybe, (oh fuck) seeing her ex Gray last night. Jack wished he'd remembered to ask Cliff if they had talked about Karen at all last night before Kai had arrived. Fuck. Gray didn't seem like the kind of faggy prick who would cry over a chick though. Not like Kai. No wonder Karen had chosen Gray over Kai, Jack mused.

and Cliff was oblivious to all of this, of course, because Cliff was a fucking retard. "Kai-waii!!~" he beamed, treating him to his usual over exaggerated greetings.

"Hah-hey," Kai said.

"We missed you so much you beautiful, prince of a man!" Cliff hugged his waist.

Jack looked him up and down. "You need this," he interrupted, extending the burning spliff in Kai's direction.

Kai accepted without a moment's pause. Relief visibly saturated his features. Jack grinned to compete with the Chesire Cat. "Burn the alcohol away, baby." Cliff made the accompanying sizzling noises in the background.

"Come. Stay awhile." Jack patted the ground beside him. "and pass me back that spliff, Kai. I'm not done." Kai did as he was told.

"Cliff, here," Jack gestured, "has got a thick, pulsating, wet rod waiting for you. Where do you want it?" He faked a 1-900-number voice.

Kai snickered as he whipped around; he saw Cliff holding out a fishing rod for him in one hand, and trying to hold back giggles with the other. It was hard not to laugh around his perma-fried friends; they were just such _guys_. Being with them reminded him too much of being home with his brothers, sometimes. Except those assholes never shared their pot.

They fished in silence, passing it back and forth, slowly, but surely beginning to sober up. The higher they got, the more the hangover pains subsided.

"What's wrong, Kai?" Kai turned towards Cliff and Cain, both watching him with matching eagle-eyed stares.

"Wha-huh?" Kai stuttered, taken aback.

"Why so blue?"

"m'Not blue..." Kai muttered, immediately detracting his eye contact. Cliff studied him seriously.

"You're right... you're purple!" Cliff discovered, gesturing to his purple drawstring pants and matching bandana. "Why are you so purple all the time, Kai?"

"He's fucking hungover, idiot. Stop asking stupid questions," Jack grinned, gaining a pout from Cliff in return. "He's well hung... over." All three of them cackled wildly.

They were high now, and they were happy (for the moment). The Three Musketeers of Flower Bud Village.

"Ooohh yeah." Jack inhaled the last of the roach with his entire lung capacity. He felt the molten air singe his cilia and sear through his alveoli, literally melting his hangover away. He reclined, stretching out in the grass behind him. He bathed in the warmth of the summer rays; the sun kissed microscopic freckles across his petite facial features.

"Mmm," he hummed to himself. "Life is so fucking beautiful. The birds, the bees, the drugs. Fuck what my spoiled ass says, I'm never going to kill myself. This is the tits."

Cliff and Kai didn't hear him, or atleast they did a good job pretending not to.

* * *

a note from your author:

i just love kai :3 he's my dream boy~  
i like pansy ass faggots, i guess.  
i seriously have _always_ wanted to know what was up with kai and all the purple clothing.

tell me what you like, and what you don't. i like to know those things, so i can write around it in the next chapters :) thanks for reading!


	5. greenhouse

* * *

(sorry harvest sprites, but your princess is in another) greenhouse

* * *

Jack Rose was getting married tomorrow.

"I smoke two joints in the morning. I smoke two joints at night. I smoke two joi--"

Jack cut in, begininng to sing along with the music, his voice horrifyingly off-key. "--nts before I smoke two joints, and it makes me feel aiiiiiiiighttt."

With a spliff burning between two fingers of one hand, and a watering can deftly balanced in the other, Jack happily completed his morning chores. He bent down to shower his ripening tomatoes with a lazy grin. Truthfully, he'd expected to be busier. But it was any other lazy Saturday morning in the greenhouse, as far as he was concerned. Music was flowing easily out of the boom box in the corner. Sunshine penetrated the glass shingles and rained down upon his back.

God, this was the ONLY way to farm. And sure, when he'd turned up here over six seasons ago, he never thought he'd be growing fucking _vegetables_ for a living, but there was surprisingly a lot of money in it. Growing cabbages and corns were what got him started, and helped him raise the money for the greenhouse in the first place. Because, of course, that's where the real money was.

Moving to his glass dome's most northwest corner, behind the eggplant and just next to the strawberry patch, he began to attend to his real cash crop. He'd enclosed it with a white picket fence, remembering as he and Cliff lovingly hammered in every stake. The real reason Jack spent so much time in his greenhouse -- and the reason he hadn't abandoned this hick town months ago, was his marijuana patch.

He dropped the watering can to his feet and stuck the roach in the side of his mouth, beginning to adjust the hydroponic lamps helping his pot grow. The plants had matured from the baby seedlings he'd once planted into seven foot high, statuesque beauties, radiating with a lush, colourful green so gorgeous he wanted to paint with it.

Yes, Jack loved his greenhouse. A fort to play in for an oversized little boy.

* * *

Jack remembered when his crop had originally been acquired one day when they drove into the main town to get the seedlings. Before Jack's greenhouse was built, the three boys often made the seven hour trip (five, when Cliff was driving) to the closest town to Flowerbud: Frankton. Not much of a town, certainly when compared to cities like Jack had lived before, but it atleast had the bare necessities that Flowerbud lacked: shopping, strip clubs, and drug dealers. Oh, and a bus station, in case he ever needed to run away.

Jack always thought a few steps ahead of everyone else; this was because he was just smarter than they were. On the top of his priority list his first season on the farm was to befriend Kai, the only villager with access to a car. This proved to be quite easy, since at the time Kai had no pre-existing friends. It was actually Gotz's car, the winery's vehicle, but the old man never noticed it gone.

Cliff he had no use for; the vagrant had actually befriended him. He showed up, begged for food, and grateful to actually get something from Jack, he never left his side. Cliff was both an annoyance and a relief to have around. A friend whom he couldn't ditch, as hard as he tried. So eventually, Jack stopped trying to ditch him.

The three boys became a gay little clique, a la pre-teen girls, and made weekly trips to Frankton in the winery's sky-blue Suzuki jeep (again, just like girls). They had fun, but driving so far to pick up drugs began to get a bit tedious. Again, Jack had planned ahead. As soon as the greenhouse was all paid for, they acquired baby pot plants of their own. Now those plants had grown into money-making powerhouses.

* * *

Twisting some pot off into a baggie, Jack placed it in the shipping bin on top of the veggies he had harvested earlier. Zack's usual order on Saturdays was a helpful extra hundred bucks. He wasn't exactly rolling in dough, but he sure got by. He wasn't as rich as he thought he'd be by 24, but it was literally buying him time to write his best seller...

*sigh* Oh yes… that. Jack glanced at the beat up old desk in the corner, '95 Dell laptop perched on top of it, uselessly collecting dust. He sighed. The closed computer, still home to some of his greatest unfinished works, was about a week away from being coated in cobwebs. It wasn't like Jack had forgotten completely about his writing, but he just... he _had_ nothing to write about. Every time he opened up the LCD screen and a blank word document stared back at him, it became more and more depressing.

Wasn't he getting married tomorrow? Love - it was supposed to be inspiring. Maybe he could try…

No sooner had the thought come than did he abolish it from his mind. Meh, fuck writing; He'd do it later.

He picked up the watering can and attempted to continue his work, but...

"Ello-hay," a voice said from behind him.

"Gah-ha-whaha!" Jack jumped back a good three feet from the little elf who had suddenly appeared in his greenhouse.

"Can I help you with that?" The drawf wore all red, his pointed hat just shooting him just above one foot tall. And he wasn't alone. Two more of the first elf's identical twins emerged from behind rows of vegetables. They came toward him, wearing unfaltering smiles that did not realize the terror they had etched upon Jack's face.

"W-who the fuck are you?" He cleared his throat, speaking deeply and stood tall, faking intimidation. They looked harmless, almost like he could kill one with the stomp of his boot, but also kind of reminded Jack of the underpants gnomes from South Park. He also had no idea what they wanted.

"... we're the Harvest Sprites!"

"Huh?"

"The... the Sprites. We've been waiting very uch-may time for you to come to us." The Sprite had to strain to maintain a smile now.

"The Goddess needs your help, Jack!" another spoke up.

"Yes, the Goddess. You must ake-may her an offering!" finished the third.

... was this a joke? Had someone put him up to this? But then, how could they find such tiny, shruken, little people? These weren't exactly your everyday brand of midget here. These were like some kind of special European model.

Sensing his frustrations, the head sprite spoke up. "Master Jack, legend has foretold that you will save the Goddess. You are one of the only ones who can speak with her. We're here to help you on your quest."

"Heehee. 'My quest'." Jack giggled at the cute little creatures his mind had created. "Well I'm sorry to tell you, ah, Harvest Sprites... but your princess? Is in another castle."

The Sprites looked to each other, searching their expressions for possible meanings of this sentence, and then directed their eyes back to Jack.

"Er... greenhouse, I s'pouse." Still nothing.

"You're not the _princess_ Jack, you're the hero! We're here to help you."

"Look, I don't know who you think I am, but I --" Jack cut himself off, mid-thought. "Help, did you say?"

"Yes of course!" the squeakiest one chimed in. "We can't have our hero wasting his time with daily chores. We'll take care of these things while you help the Goddess."

"Yeah!" the other two echoed in unison.

So he was crazy. He'd finally completely released what little grasps he'd had on his sanity. True he wasn't a med student anymore, but he'd seen "A Beautiful Mind" enough times to know schizophrenia when it slapped him right in the face. Jack began to laugh.

He laughed and laughed and the Sprites looked on with confused, happy gazes. Jack passed the littlest one his watering can. Hell, might as well befriend his own imaginary friends, and get them to do a little work around here. He couldn't just create them in his mind and ignore them when they came to play (that would make him a horrible host). Now he'd never be lonely again. Maybe he could dream up his mother one of these days, invite her to tea...

But his mind was wandering, and yet the sprites still remained in front of him. He clapped a hand down on the fat one and knocked the hat off of his head. "Hee hee," Jack giggled. They were so lifelike.

"Well, as long as you're here..." Jack grinned, "I may as well tell you about how I'm getting married tomorrow..."


	6. vanity

a note from your author:

this is the first chapter i wrote of this story. it's special. little popuri is very important to the story. it's not all about jack, you know.

...well actually, i guess it is, but popuri is very important to jack's story.

* * *

vanity

* * *

Much like any other girl, Popuri had spent a lifetime dreaming of the perfect wedding. She had imagined her dress, her veil, her crying and proud parents, & the huge bed she would finally get to sleep in with her new husband (she also dreamed of the large amount of pillows a bed of that size could contain). She had gone over and over every detail of the day in her head. Somehow it was everything she'd pictured but, at the same time, nothing at all like she thought it would be.

Popuri squinted one eye at the mirror and tilted her head. She sure didn't look old enough to get married. Momma had been seventeen when she married Daddy, so Popuri was plenty old to marry (she KNEW that). But, she just didn't look... eighteen.

She tried to think about the word, and noticed two things: it was spelt different from most other words, and it was long (too long). Also, Popuri decided, it was quite odd and slightly awkward to say outloud. But that wasn't something she chose to focus on, because it was just her personal opinion after all. Maybe others thought it was a cool word, different, unique... it was not Popuri's place to decide.

"Eighteen. Ei-g-h-t-een."

I guess it had always been the plan, but her reflection in the mirror didn't match the version in her dream. She'd always imagined that by the time she got married, she would look, well, just so much... older. She still had chubby cheeks! She was still soft. And she was only five foot four, and she kind of hoped she would be atleast five foot six (but since she was eighteen now, she supposed that meant she wasn't going to grow anymore). This thought had never before occurred to her. This is what she looked like; she was a grownup, and this was the face of a grownup.

"I'm a grownup now, Kitty Meow Meow. It's time to let go of childhood dreams and fantasies. This is the face of a grownup. Just as grown up as Momma." Kitty Meow Meow purred from her position at Popuri's ankles, but didn't offer a response.

Popuri realized this also meant her breasts were probably never going to grow bigger, either. She flew a hand to cup her right boob. She was always delighted she got her petite waist from her father's side, but now she mourned the loss of her mothers assets.

"Well maybe not AS grown up as Momma..."

Popuri stood, examining her profile reflection in the vanity mirror. It was the only piece of furniture left in the room beside her bed. All her clothes, potted plants, even Kitty Meow Meow's bed, had all been moved into Jack's house already.

Popuri laughed at herself. "Jack's house". It was her house now. It was their house – the Rose residence.

She was pretty, sure, but she wanted to be beautiful tomorrow. She remembered being beautiful on her wedding day, in her dreams. Not cute nor pretty, but... regal. She just didn't feel old enough to be beautiful. Popuri didn't feel ready to look the most beautiful a woman should ever look in her life. Not so soon.

Wasn't it soon? Life felt like it just began yesterday.

Popuri figured she should practice doing her hair for tomorrow. The wedding was pretty early, and she didn't want to risk screwing up. She ran her fingers across her meticulously organized makeup corner. Momma had done it all, early on. Most of the makeup had come from her. Her and Karen, of course. Her fingers landed on a box of pale pink bobby pins and a slim white hairspray canister. On their last trip to town, Popuri had picked up a fashion magazine and found her perfect hairstyle. A pop singer named Lady GaGa had a bow made out of her own hair sitting atop her head. Popuri had since ripped out the picture and taped it to the side of the mirror, trying to get the style right. A few days back she finally perfected it, but decided to save it's debut for her wedding day. She considered it a perfect placeholder for a veil.

Popuri had to admit that this hairstyle was even better now than in her previous visions. A thick bow resting amidst soft waves of cherry hair. Straight was in fashion now, perhaps, but curls were more feminine and Popuri knew she was lucky to have them. Popuri's flaxen-strawberry hue of hair was so unique -- she always had, and always would, adore her family's genetic gift of pink hair (her mother and grandmother were the only other two people in the world she had ever seen with hair the same).

The dress was perfect, the hair was cuter than anything she ever could have dreamed up, the man was the one every single girl in town wanted, and by marrying him her name would legally be changed to Popuri Rose. It was more than she even would have thought to ask for – and it all fell into her lap, courtesy of the boy who should be perfect for her.

Popuri opened the crowded top drawer of the vanity and reached to the back. She had stashed a picture Karen drew a long time ago there. She had found it when going through a box of clothes Karen's mother had given her after she had left. The picture was dog-eared and folded three times in the pants pocket of her old jean,s, on the back signed "Karen – age 14". Karen had drawn herself, on tiptoes, kissing Gray at their wedding. Below she drew Popuri and, as she called him, "Prince Charming" doing the same. Popuri had crossed out "Prince Charming" and written "Kai" in it's place, and doodled a bandana on the groom's head.

Jack had once told Popuri that he believed anyone can fall in love with anyone else, as long as the circumstances and timing are right. He said this is because we are all the same inside and go through the same cycles eventually, but society looks down upon certain pairings which decreases their likelihood of occurring... or something (Jack says a lot of strange things like this after he's been working in his greenhouse. Popuri supposed he had a lot of time to think in there and so he just comes up with these crazy ideas. Jack is smart).

Although she didn't know how much of it was true, Popuri always wondered if under different circumstances, Kai could have fallen in love with her. Maybe if there was no Flowerbud Village, no Karen, no age difference... maybe that would have given her the same groom from the daydreams. Maybe she would be older and less cute and more beautiful and everything would be perfect... and happy! Maybe Daddy would never have left and Momma wouldn't be leaving now and Popuri wouldn't have been left alone to run her store, and her life, by herself. (not by herself, popuri corrected. she had a husband now who could take care of her instead).

None of it seems to make any sense. because you think about life, and what you want, and you make a plan, and nothing works out, and everything is ruined... and then somehow, just when you've given up, it's back on track.

But... it just never feels like what you really wanted after you've already gone through the heartbreak of getting over it.

It all just happens all of a sudden – out of no where. All of a sudden, Popuri LaFontaine wasn't a little girl anymore. All of a sudden, she was a woman (she was eighteen). She wasn't Daddy's little girl anymore, either. All of a sudden, Daddy stopped existing, and now Popuri can't remember what it was she used to love about the springtime. All of a sudden, Karen's disappeared into the night, and then... then the day came that Kai could finally look at Popuri, as a woman, and still refuse her. Now she couldn't even dream about being with Kai anymore. And starting tomorrow, she all of a sudden would no longer be Popuri LafFontaine.

Popuri finished her hair. She went to bed and slept and dreamt and thought of things forgotten moments later. She slept that night with a bow on top of her head.

* * *

"How can you do this Momma? How can you just forget about him? He's coming back!" Popuri was on her knees on the floor of her newly inherited flower shop. Crying eyes were hidden against her mother's ruffled dress. She uselessly beat her fists against the tiered cotton fabric.

Lillia LaFontaine tried to wrestle her waist from her daughter's desperate grasp. "Popuri, please stop."

"No no no no NO! This isn't fair 'n you know it!"

"Popuri, please stop. You're scaring me."

Popuri lowered her decibel. "Momma what 'm I supposed to say when Daddy when he comes back? Please don't do this to Daddy. I mean... he's coming back, and he'll be so upset. We-- we don't know how to get to Florida!"

"Popuri, your father died," Lillia repeated herself. "He is dead. He's been dead this whole time. And he's never coming back."

Popuri released her fists at once, stopped dead in her tracks by invisible restraints. Lillia darted away, leaving Popuri all alone, in the cold. It started to rain.

.... I don't remember the roof of the Flower Shop allowing rain?

It's okay. It was just a dream.

* * *


End file.
